


Lights Will Guide You Home

by orphan_account



Series: Fix You Series [6]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Character Death, Cunnilingus, F/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Beta Read, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sorry Not Sorry, Telepathic Bondage, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael makes a decision.





	Lights Will Guide You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Michael's POV this time. Bear with me lovelies. Hold onto your butts.
> 
> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. The title and name of the series belong to Cold Play's "Fix You."
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

Michael lays awake and considers the mess his emotions have wrought.

This fondness, this obsession is more perverse than his masochism. He’s the beast foretold, yet he quakes at the touch of a pixey witch. He disgusts himself.

He can fuck whoever he wants—had intended to fuck his way into the confidence of the Grand Chancellor. But the vicious minx put a stop to all of that. Michael’s certain that it was Mallory who cursed half of his congregation with pestilence. The stunt with the champagne glasses wasn’t subtle either. The worst of her misdeeds is the fact that she's made him crave her.

He aches for the structure of her commands and the discomfort of her discipline.

Michael should be repulsed by Mallory, not enamoured like a grade school twat. For fuck’s sake, he waited outside her door last week because he didn’t want to invade her privacy. He needs to put a stop to this before she crawls any further under his skin.

Mallory's a player in his prophecy, he’s sure of it. She’s got too much power to be at home among the chattel he plans to slaughter. There’s something ancient in her eyes; a hollow look that says she’s seen too much and knows too much about the cyclical nature of the world. She may enjoy giving life to animals and objects in their lessons, but he’s seen something dark and wrathful swim through her gaze.

Cordelia’s grown ignorant in her power. She’s overlooked his dear Mallory. And for a time, he had too. Michael doesn’t plan on repeating his mistakes.

\--------------------------------------------

He goes to Mallory, appropriately, at the witching hour. The veils are thinnest now, he can feel the energy calling to him. Michael gathers the shadows close to him for support. He’s shaking.

Mallory’s beautiful in her slumber. Her face is as delicate and enigmatic as that of a porcelain doll. The darkness around him chokes out the moonlight streaming through her window. Michael considers the spill of her hair over her pillow and the curve of her cheek and thinks that, given time, he could love her. Banishing the thought with a shake of his head, he slithers over to her form and into position, coiling to strike.

Mallory’s eyes shoot open. Michael freezes, immobilized by her confused stare. His grandmother was right to call him a coward.

“Michael, what are you doing?” Mallory asks. She raises a hand to touch his face and he feels his determination shatter. The burden of his purpose is crushed beneath the weight of her affection. Michael cants his head into her touch and shutters his eyes the best that he can. “I’m sorry, Mallory. I just needed to see you," he cries, eyes tearing dramatically. Sniffling pathetically, he throws himself down on her chest and tucks his head beneath her chin.

Mallory’s voice sounds bewildered when she questions him again. “What’s gotten into you?”

Michael can’t meet her eyes. He can’t see the warmth that’ll break through before she drags it back under. Instead, he starts pressing kisses over her collarbones and down her sternum. The distraction is as much for him as it is for her. Hunger for more contact spurs him on. He fists her duvet and drags it with him as he moves down her body. He wants to see her undone, wants to drown in the feel and taste of her.

He doesn’t give Mallory an opportunity to reject him. Michael’s never used his powers on her, but he does so now. A wave of his hand pins her bent arms to the bed. Mallory’s fully awake now. “What do you think you’re doing? Michael, this isn’t funny!” she spits. He stills her tongue next. Mallory’s eyes communicate that he’s an insolent little shit. There isn’t time to mourn the loss of her praise. He presses onward.

Michael pushes her tank top up to her waist and luxuriates in the soft skin of her belly. He licks a stripe from the top of her sleep shorts to her bellybutton and blows hot air over the sheen of his saliva. Mallory’s nostrils flare as her abdominals contract with a deep inhale. Michael can feel her pushing against his magic, fighting back. He grabs the waistbands of her shorts and underwear and yanks, hauling the garments roughly down her legs. Mallory tries to shut her thighs, but he forces them apart.

Michael’s spiralling out of control. He wedges himself between her trembling limbs and pauses to breathe. The press of her lean muscles against his shoulders and back grounds him. He peers at her center and feels his mouth water. She’s exquisite. A night blooming flower perfuming the air—drawing him in. He parts her folds with his thumbs and sips at the nectar he can see glistening there. The flavour makes him ravenousness.

Michael eats her out languidly, savoring the complexity of her nuanced taste. He alternates between long passes with the flat of his tongue and darting stabs to her entrance before moving to suck hard at her clit. He can see the quick rise of her breath and feel her muscles tense as he worships her with his mouth.

Michael could happily feast on Mallory for the rest of his days. He commits the silken heat of her cunt to his memory amongst other representations that are distinctly her. He plunges two fingers into her entrance and enjoys the tight squeeze of her walls. When he glances up at her face, Mallory's biting her lip, stifling a silent scream. Her amber eyes plead for release. From his hold or her building arousal, he cannot tell. Tears stream down her crumpled face.

Michael curls his fingers to rub the spot just under her pubic bone and feels her climax drench his hand. He pulls his fingers from her opening and laps up the fluid on her perineum before it can roll down the skin of her ass. Glutted, Michael rests his head on Mallory’s thigh and enjoys the closeness. The blond strands of his hair tickle the wet skin of his jaw. He’s been growing it out so that there’s more for Mallory to pull.

Cuddling close to her, he wills time to stop; to trap them in this moment like mosquitos encased in sap oozing from the bark of a tree. But time is not his force to wield.

Michael ages ten years in the transition from lying between Mallory’s legs to kneeling over her chest. Her eyes plead him for mercy. The betrayal there cuts him to the quick.

Resolved, he puts a pillow over her face and presses down until her struggles cease. He keeps pressing until Mallory goes completely limp.

\--------------------------------------------

Michael absconds into the woods, climbing over rocks and through streams until his bare feet are slashed and bleeding. He reaches a lone stretch of road and stumbles along the shoulder until an old silver Toyota rolls to a stop beside him. Michael’s Ms. Mead beams at him from the interior.

Mallory wakes with her arms posed carefully over her chest. A purple hyacinth rests under her folded hands.


End file.
